And did those feet in ancient times,

Walk upon England's mountains green?

And did the Holy Lamb of God,

Dum dum dum dum dee dum dee dee?

There's nothing like the Last Night of the Proms to raise the spirits before a pointless war. A rousing chorus of Jerusalem! A stirring rendition of Rule Britannia! The waving of flags. The patriotic cheers! It starts as a tingle in your toes, boils up through the blood and ends up as stiffie the likes of which can cause you to faint. In fact the only way to get rid of the throbbing bulge in your denims is to run upstairs as soon as the proms are over, whip out your collection of Queen Mother Souvenier magazines and shoot your load all over the covers.

My belief in Britain and the monarchy is whole again! (Rah rah!) Especially since Prince Harry revealed this week that for his eighteenth annual P.R. event/birthday he'll be supporting all those wonderful charities of which his dearly missed mother was so damned fond. Presumably he's talking about the six wealthiest families in Britain, seeing as they're the ones who copped for her millions when she snuffed it and all her other favourite charities/sounding boards/public relations exercises didn't receive squat.

Again for good measure...And did that chimp in ancient times, squat upon English people's heads?

And did the Holy Lamb of God kill Iraqui kiddies in their beds?